I Dance Alone
by Lady-Lomode
Summary: Unfinished. This story goes into the story of La Sorelli, the prima ballerina in Gaston Leroux's novel, long before and during the events of the novel and the Andrew Lloyd musical.
1. Daydreams and Bruises

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at Phan Phiction. Please be nice! My story concerns Erik and another woman, La Sorelli. Gaston Leroux never really fleshed out this prima ballerina's character, and I really wish we knew more about her... hence the story! I will be mixing all of the Phantom mediums I know together... mostly Andrew Lloyd Webber, since I'm most familiar with him... but there will be some from the original novel and Susan Kay...This starts well before the happenings of the ALW musical, just to give you a timeline! ;)

Please Read & Respond!

I Dance Alone

"Into your starting position, ladies! Everything must be perfect for Opening Night! The reputation of this Opera House is on your unworthy shoulders! If the ballet is bad, the whole opera is ruined!" Madame Giry yelled, her frustration with her dancers breaking through herstony facade.

I really wish Mme would stop yelling like that, Sorelli D'Aubigne thought. She could see the signs of stress on the younger ballerinas of the _corps de ballet. _Looking at little Meg Giry, only aboutten and notquite fit for the stage, she could sense a temper tantrum building behind those teary eyes. The newcomer, an orphan named Christine, was looking a little lost in the maze of _pas de chats_ and _pirouettes_.I should sit with her and Meg at dinner tonight, she considered. She did just lose her father and-

WHACK! Sorelli cried out as, unseen to her, Madame Giry's cane came down to clout her on the back her legs, causing Sorelli to sink to her knees. "I suggest you pay attention, Mlle D'Aubigne. Your status here on scholarship does not leave you wiggle room to daydream!" Giry mocked, only so Sorelli could hear. "Opening night is in two weeks, and I have full authority to cut anyone I think is not ready to give a perfect performance." At the end of this statement, her voice rose to address the rest of the girls. "I believe it is time for us to stop for the night. I expect all of you to eat a good dinner and go back to your room afterwards. We'll be here all day tomorrow, if we must. We should have at least been in act three by now..." Mme Giry's thoughts wandered off as she left the stage, leaving the girls alone with their thoughts.


	2. Dancing for Dinner

The rest of the dance troupe followed Mme Giry, the younger girls casting sympathetic glances at Sorelli, the older girls with glances full of contempt. Only one scholarship student was allowed in the Opera's ballet school. Several of the girls were orphans, true, but the government paid for them to be put into dance training, as it was cheaper to load them off on someone else than take care of them all at an orphanage. Sorelli's parents, as far as she was concerned, were still alive, somewhere in the streets of France's largest seaport, Marseilles. Sorelli had left them as soon as she was accepted into a small ballet school in Aix-en-Provence at7 years old. From there, she had been sent to the Paris Opera House's school because Paris was looking for a charity case to take on to save face. Something about an accident in the cellars of the opera creating bad press. Now 17, Sorelli had to earn her keep by working late nights in the kitchen, washing dishes and starting the stews and roasts that would need to cook all the next day. She was also everyone's errand runner, which got very annoying late at night when someone was ill, considering the Opera's doctor lived on the other side of the Seine.

Sorelli picked herself up, trying to get the dirt off of her pristine pink toe shoes. She hated to get messy, and the floors in the practice rooms of the Paris Ballet were not the cleanest places in the world.

I might as well go get started on my work for tonight, she thought with chagrin. The cook, Mme Poindexter, wanted to give a full spread tomorrow in honor of her retirement. Sorelli had no problems with the elderly woman, but she was a strict and demanding woman. You'd never go hungry under her watch, but you had to make up for it by washing dishes in the back. She hoped that the next cook would have the same values.

The kitchen was quiet as Sorelli began slicing the vegetables for a quiche in the morning. To help pass the time, she began to hum to herself a soft, Mediterranean lullaby that was very common in Marseilles. Involuntarily Sorelli's hips begin to sway in time to the song, her chopping following the beat. Slowly, she put the knife down and began to do a small dance in front of her station. All Sorelli could hear was the music in her mind and the beat of her heart.

Sorelli stopped herself suddenly, looking around to make sure that no one was watching. Only street whores on corners danced the way she just did, advertising themselves, available for a price. Mme Giry would be very disappointed to see her stoop to the level of the older Ballet dancers, Les Putains De Ballet.

Sorelli hurried through her chores and ran to her bed in the ballet dormitories. She couldn't help but shiver as she opened her door. She could swear someone was watching her. When the door of her room shut with a harsh click, the only thought on her mind was:

I hope no one saw me dance.


	3. The Heat of the Morning

Author's Note: Thanks to all my reviewers! In reply to notesinred's review, you have a very valid point. I really wanted to use La Sorelli, but I disagreed with making her almost villain like in the story (in my plot plans, sleeping around made her seem really horrible), so this story is in the years leading up to the basic plot of all the stories, so you can see how she became the way she is. And there are going to be a few ALW crossovers, but not a word-for-word crossover. I had Mme Giry be the ballet master instead of the keeper of Box Five because I knew her character to seem very cold and harsh, so I could use it to my advantage! La Sorelli hasn't really opened her mouth yet, but I don't remember her really being like a Neanderthal. So, I might let her be smarter in her mind than she lets on! ;)

A question to my reviewers: am I not being descriptive enough? I figured that's why my chapters are so short!

Sorelli woke up early the next morning with a dark bruise on the back of her legs. Looking out the small round window by her bed, she still saw the twinkling of the stars and the lamplights of Paris. It couldn't have been more than six o'clock in the morning.

Oh great, she reprimanded herself, the morning I don't have to get up early to finish my work in the kitchen, I wake up on time! In her rash of embarrassment the night before, Sorelli had finished preparing her part of today's meals.

Rolling over, she cast a glance at the other girls sleeping soundly in their beds. They would all be awake in an hour or so. Knowing she wasn't going to get anymore sleep, Sorelli got out of bed, pulled on her robe and padded her way to the dressing room across the hall. Since she was the first one up, she got the privilege of washing up with the precious hot water pumped into the room. Usually Sorelli was so late, the warmer water ran out and she was forced to immerse her face in water so cold it numbed her nose.

Feeling refreshed, she dressed in her practice skirted leotard for the day and laced her old pointe shoes. With a practiced grace and poise, she used her pointe shoes to walk on her toes, slipping out of the door without waking a soul.

Sorelli crept down the hall to an old ballet rehearsal room. A couple of years ago a few of the rehearsal rooms were remodeled to imitate the slanted floor of the stage. This one, on the outer edges of the ballet conservatory, was left behind in the wave of modifications, and was closed up. Well, except to those who had the keys to the Opera Populaire, thanks to their late night and early morning errands around the building.

Sorelli hadn't had time to practice in the morning lately, thanks to the chores that gave her the keys. When she unlocked the oversize door and closed it behind her, Sorelli ran around the room, pulling the dust covers off of the giant mirrors on the walls, marveling at the intricate carvings on the bar running waist length on the mirrors, to help the dancers stretch and the younger girls practice their balancing techniques. Lastly, she pulled the colossal drapes on one side of the room, opening one of the windows to the cool morning breeze. Below on the Rue Scribe, gypsy musicians were playing the music of the coast, her home, in anticipation of a small festival scheduled for today in the streets.

Like the night before, the music took hold and her hips began to sway. She stopped herself, saying,

"I came here to practice _ballet_, a totally respectable art form, not dance like the heathen my mother is."

The minute those words passed her lips, she regretted them. Her mother had always taken care of her without a legitimate man in her life, which was hard in a mostly Catholic country. That is why Sorelli had left home at such a young age, she had wanted away, and so did her mother, so save both women's reputations.

Glancing around the room, Sorelli went to the door and made sure it was locked and opened the rest of the windows to allow more of the music flow into the room. She went on her toes, and then gave in to her compulsions. If there was no one to watch her, why not? She kept herself on pointe, moving her feet in her practiced motions, but from there on up it was pure liquid movement. Her hips moved in figure eights, her arms swaying wherever the feeling took them. After a while, she began not to hear the music, she was so wrapped up in herself and what she was doing. Gradually she got off pointe, beginning to dance as she remembered her mother so many years ago.

Sorelli was so wrapped up in herself; it took her a long time to realize there was the heat of another body behind her, following her. That acknowledgement was enough to pull her out of her reverie, making her stop dead in her tracks.

When she stopped, she surprised the person behind her, causing them to brush a hand along her back, and then the heat quickly withdrew. By the time Sorelli removed her embarrassed, teary gaze from the floor, snapping her eyes to the mirrors, all she could see was a cloaked figure disappearing behind a door concealed by one of the mirrors on an interior wall. She turned and ran to the latching escape, banging her fists on the glass until they were a cherry red. By now, Sorelli was weeping.

"Whoever you are, I don't care. Please don't tell, please…It would ruin me….."

Sorelli's sobs echoed around the large, cavernous room. She had done so much to prevent this from ever happening!

On the other end of the room, Sorelli could hear the deadbolt of the door slide from its place in the doorframe.

"Mademoiselle D'Aubigne, what in the world is going on in here!"


	4. Raspberries and Kisses

**Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took SOOOOOOO long to get up… I hope I haven't lost you! And thanks for responding to my previous question…… _I HAVE REVIEWERS!_cackles**

**Ok, I'm normal now! Or, as normal as I get! I'm hitting a rough patch coming up… I know the beginning and the end of the story, it's working out the middle details! Just as a warning, don't expect a story as long as Mandy the O's (kisses ground she walks on) An Eternity of This. My characters tend to be straight forward, and in my creative thought processes, they're getting pushy! **

**In this chapter there is a reference to _The Princess Diaries_ by Meg Cabot. Find it and win a prize! grins**

**I'm not crazy; I swear… ok, maybe little nuts, but not much!**

**Kudos to my new Beta, Random-Battlecry, of _Whose Lair is it Anyway_? and ****_The True Saga of WeakWilled Christine_****fame. (Yes, THAT Random) She cought all my little omma errors and the like….. _Merci beaucoup! _**

**Please R&R!**

"Mademoiselle D'Aubigne, what in the world is going on in here!" Mme Giry's eyes were opened wide, brows blending into her hairline.

"Just practicing, Madame." Sorelli lied, crossing her fingers behind her back and wiping the tears from her eyes. No matter how many times she did it, Sorelli always felt guilty for lying to the woman who cared for her. Mme Giry may be a hard woman, but she deserved the truth.

"I see, Mademoiselle. Is it customary, where you are from, to beat on mirrors as you practice?"

"No madam. I just stubbed my toe on the wall. It was very painful and…" Sorelli trailed off into oblivion, leaving the rest of the excuse for Madame Giry to fill in.

"Ah, I see… Well, I would like to remind you that breakfast is being served. You have forty five minutes until practice begins."

Sorelli gave a small dip and began to rush out of the room, until she was stopped by Mme Giry's cane handle. "I would like to remind you, Mademoiselle, that your nostrils flare when you lie."

Bowl in hand, Sorelli searched the crowded dining room for a seat. Spying her friend, Ragoczy D'Arno, and a few of the other ballerinas at a table in the corner, Sorelli made her way through the masses of set builders, seamstresses and musicians to reach her companions.

Ragoczy was a tall young man of Sorelli's age, 19, with auburn hair and green eyes. He was a set builder studying to become a dancer and a member of the Opera's chorus. As he always put it, he was 'biding his time until the time came to reveal his talents'. Everyone took this to mean 'I'm still building up the balls to try out.'

"Where were you this morning?" Ragoczy asked, a crooked smile gracing his mouth. "I came to the kitchens, and they said you finished your work early."

"I did, nosy!" Sorelli said with mock horror. "Are you implying I have no right to free time?"

"I am in no way implying that!" he replied with a laugh. "I know first hand how hard it is, trying to practice for the Opera Populaire _and_ hold down a job." Ragoczy's father still didn't believe that his son wanted to devote his life to singing and dancing, and forced him to work late nights in the family tailor shop to prepare him for the 'Real World'.

"I know you do, Ragoczy. Mme Giry has been especially hard on us this week…" Sorelli glanced around the cafeteria, making sure little Meg and her tattletale friends weren't listening. "Anyway, I went to one of the old classrooms to practice, right?" Heads around the table nodded, several of them holding an 'o' of surprise and excitement at the admission of breaking the rules. "Well… I was… dancing, practicing for the new opera next month…" Sorelli's priest had never _exactly_ said that lying by omission was a sin! "And I felt someone watching me! I was in the middle of a leap, so I couldn't see really who it was, or risk landing wrong and breaking my ankle…." She heard several whispers of 'bullshit' at this lie, "and when I got a good look, _someone was closing one of the mirrors_! It was like a ghost! When I ran over there, I swear, the mirror was stuck in place, just like it never moved!"

One of the younger ballet rats giggled. "Sorelli, you are too superstitious! Ghosts!" At that one word, the whole table erupted in laughter.

Sorelli could feel her face begin to turn red. The story was true… she had only left a _bit_ out! To cover her shame, she stood up and laughed with them. "We have only five minutes to get to class. I'm going to get a head start. Ciao!" She abruptly turned away from the confused look on the ballet rat's faces and headed to the all too distant door.

As she cleared the doorway, Sorelli was greeted by the cool silence on anticipation. Tools, props and costumes were strewn in the dark world of the Opera Populaire, waiting to be used in the day's toils. She heard footsteps approach her behind, causing her to spin, not wanting to repeat the day's earlier encounter. There was Ragoczy, hands up as if to grab her by the shoulders. "Ragoczy! After that story I told you, you have the nerve to try and scare me? I thought you liked me better than that!"

"Awww, Sorelli, you know I love you more than that!" Ragoczy let his hands complete their predisposed motion, but hugging Sorelli close rather than scaring her. "That story was a bit crazy. Believable, but crazy."

"So you do believe me!" Sorelli shouted in triumph. "After all that laughing and you believe me! What a way to show it!"

Ragoczy pretended to be hurt, bowing his head until his face was hidden by a curtain of his long hair. "I just told you I love you and you're more concerned about being right! Typical woman!"

Just to show how she felt about him, Sorelli leaned up towards Ragoczy as if to kiss him. At the last possible second, she turned her head and blew a raspberry on his tanned cheek. "Ragoczy, you're the best friend a girl could have."

He laughed. "I know. You'd better go or you'll be late."

"You know, if you would just try out, you could say _we'll_ be late…" As he rolled his eyes, she gave him a little kiss on the cheek where she had just placed her witty raspberry. "See you at lunch!"

Ragoczy watched Sorelli run off to join the other members of the ballet troupe.

"I suppose I will."


	5. Late Night Escapades

**Author's Note:  
OMG, I am late again in updates… I should be more prompt now, with school out and Finals over!**

**PLEASE R&R!**

**Thanks once again to my Super Beta, Random Battlecry!**

That evening, Sorelli headed into the kitchen after her hard day of dancing. The cook was gone, of course, having said her goodbyes at dinner. The dishes had been already done, as punishment, by the members of the cast or crew who disobeyed the rules. Sorelli was glad of this, because she hated washing dishes, and there was always a wealth of ballet tarts doing dishes after missing curfew.

When she poked her head in the door, Sorelli found the rest of the kitchen staff lounging around, smoking and laughing. "Don't we have any work to do?" she asked.

One of the kitchen boys gave a chuckle. "No, we don't! The new chef has sent no instructions, so we have nothing to do! Boy, they'll be sorry tomorrow morning when there are hundreds of Opera workers asking for breakfast!" He motioned to a bottle of red wine on the counter. "Care to join us for a drink, sweetie?"

"No thanks!" she declined with grace. "If anyone comes here looking for me, tell them I retired early."

"Sure thing, sweetheart!" a burly busboy called from the back. "There was a boy here looking for you earlier today… tall young lad…"

"I heard. If he comes here looking, tell him the same thing I told you. I am very tired, and I need my sleep before that breakfast rush from hell tomorrow."

Sorelli knew she was taking a big risk, but she had to try it. She wandered the halls of the backstage opera, past the practice rooms, past the dressing rooms, until she reached an inconspicuous, plain door in the hall outside Mme Giry's room. Still dressed in her practice clothes, she slipped a bobby pin out of her bun and let her long, black hair fall down her back. Slipping the pin into the lock, she jiggled it around until she heard a small click. The door to the storage closet slid open, and Sorelli crept inside and closed the door until just a shaft of light was visible in the dark room. Only Mme Giry had a key to this room, and to be found here would certainly bring about a punishment as strong as the fires of hell.

Sorelli groped around the closet until she found what she was looking for: a phonograph and a small folder of records. Using the little bit of light she had, Sorelli found the record for Handel's Messiah, the music the ballet school danced to at Christmas for the special recital. Because of the performance's frequency, it would be simple for Sorelli to dance the correct choreography while paying attention to the room around her, instead of her steps.

Closing the closet door behind her, Sorelli made her way to the same practice room she had used that morning. Unlocking the door, she made her way into the room, hauling her heavy load. This time, she locked the door behind her, leaving time to hide the evidence before anyone had time to unlock the door.

Setting up the phonograph in the corner, she put the record on the spindle and cranked it up. As Sorelli stood up, having set the needle in place, she assumed the starting position. As the music flowed from the phonograph's large speaker horn, Sorelli's feet and arms moved in their practiced movements.

_Relevé, Demi-Pointe, Changement de Pieds, Rond de Jambe, Relevé, Pointe, Pirouette, Fouetté, Jeté, Arabesque…_

As the song dissipated into a last, straining note of farewell, Sorelli did the practiced bow of the Prima Ballerina, with one foot pointed forward and the other en arrière and en dehors behind her. She was disappointed that her ghost watcher had made no sign of his presence. Sorelli had hoped that her display would tempt him out of the shadows once more, but no luck.

Concealing the phonograph behind the curtains around the window, Sorelli cast one more look around the room before unlocking the door to let herself out. She had an inkling that the watcher in the morning wasn't a ghost… she had felt heat at her back, not that coldness that goes with the dead. So that ruled out a few suspects that all ballet rats are taught to believe in, like the ghost of the woman who bounded from the balcony to her death and the man who jumped off the roof unto the Parisian streets below.

Sorelli heard the resounding latch of the lock as she closed the door behind her. It was getting late, and most of the population of the Opera was asleep. Creeping down the hall, she was at the door of her room, when two hands grabbed her from behind, muffling her scream and spinning her around…

There was Ragoczy.

Sorelli pulled his hand off of her mouth. "What the hell do you think you're doing, grabbing me like this in the middle of the night?"

"I was looking for you! The kitchen staff said you went to bed, but your roommates said you were gone." Sorelli cursed to herself. She hadn't even thought of telling her roommates! She had assumed they'd all be off with their beaus.

"Well, I was practicing again! See, if _you_ would try out for the ballet, you'd know what it meant to practice at something!" Sorelli could see by his expression that she had hurt him. "Ragoczy, please, that's not what I meant…"

"Oh, yes, it was. And you know it." Ragoczy let go of her and turned to walk away.

"Oh, no you don't." Sorelli grabbed him at the wrist and pulled him close, giving him a deep kiss on the lips. "You _know_ I didn't mean it that way."

Ragoczy gave her a lopsided grin. "I know, I was just hoping for a kiss."

"Don't think that you'll get too many of them." Seriousness was strong on her face, but a smile was starting to break through. "Now you'd better go before Madame Giry does a bed check in my dorm."

"Alright. Sleep tight, and don't let those bed bugs bite!" Ragoczy gave a smirk and trotted off towards his room.

As soon as Sorelli knew that Ragoczy was out of earshot, she let out a sigh, and quickly wiped off her mouth. She liked Ragoczy enough, but to kiss him? She felt like she was kissing her brother! But if she ever hoped to leave the Opera with any sort of future, it would have to be as a retiring prima ballerina, a rich man's mistress, or someone's wife. Going to live with family was not an option, as most of them wanted nothing to do with their runaway relative, and to go home to her parents likened to a dog running home with its tail between its legs. Sorelli refused to be ashamed of her decisions, so the Opera seemed to be her only option for now. Maybe in the far future, she could use Ragoczy's affections to spring her from her cage, if the ballerina career didn't go as planed.

Her thoughts broke at the sound of clicking heels coming down the hall, and Sorelli hurriedly ducked in the door of her dormitory. On the left side of the long, narrow room, there were five small beds, each surrounded by decorations made or bought by their respective occupants. To the left, their was as door that led to the girls' wardrobe and powder room, the main dressing rooms for performances being down the hallway.

Sorelli went in through that door, to her vanity, and began to get ready for bed. The dorm was quiet, since her roomies were all out on the town. Sure, they were there to tell Ragoczy where she was, but they weren't there to offer some sort of companionship when the day winded down. Using a wet rag from the communal sink, Sorelli began to wipe off her mascara and eyeliner that were her everyday staples. Upon setting the rag down on the table, she felt a small, piercing pain on her finger. Sorelli yelped, not as much from pain, but surprise. As she nursed her bleeding finger, she looked to find the source of her suffering.

On the vanity top was a single, blood red rose tied with a wide, pink ribbon that looked suspiciously like a ballet slipper lace. Under the rose was a black-lined envelope, sealed with a red wax skull. The seal was still warm to the touch, and the wax looked a bit splattered, indicating the letter was written very recently and in a rush. Casting a cursory glance about the room, finding no hidden intruders, she broke the seal and began to read the note written in a bold, hurried scrawl:

_"Mademoiselle D'Aubigne,_

_I must apologize for this morning's slip up on my part. Your dancing was intoxicating, as that style is meant to be. I did not expect to find someone in this well-respected Opera House dancing to such raunchy music like a whore on the street corner. Perhaps you were not cut out for the life of the ballerina: there are many jobs for women like you in the brothels of Paris. I'm sure they need more dancers at the Moulin Rouge._

_Admittedly, you are a fine dancer, and I enjoyed watching you perform the true art of ballet this evening. Your skill is much better than some of those in the ballet troupe, who I fear are only there as objects of the patron's lusts. This includes the horrid prima ballerina, La Strezhena. Just because one has a Russian heritage does not always make a good ballerina…._

_I am getting off topic. I do not like a young ballet rat trying lure me out of my hiding, simply because you saw me once. Try it again, and I can make your life a living hell. Why not turn your flirtatious affections on someone more responsive, like the Managers or that young set builder who follows you like a lost puppy? I'm sure some of the patrons are lonely as well!_

_This is my only warning! Use that rose to remind you; I can be cordial, but cross me and I can quickly become an entity of pain._

_O.G."_


End file.
